He is the North
by DistrictHeathdene
Summary: Catelyn Tully is about to be wed to a man she does not know, but perhaps she can come to love him after all. One-shot about Cat and Ned's wedding from Cat's POV.


**A/N Please note that aside from the exchanging of cloaks and the bedding, I have no idea what Westerosi marriage customs are, so sorry if things aren't right. It was just an idea that I really wanted to do because I love Ned and Cat so much, and I wanted to write about a young Cat. I hope people enjoy! - J x**

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Cat shivered, though not from the cold. The north was cooler than she was used to with drifts of summer snow, harsh winds that blew in suddenly and sheets of icy rain but Winterfell was warm. The castle's walls were thick grey stone and inside them were veins of hot water, rushing through the keep as though it were a living being. Cat felt it could've been. The north was old and bleak and it held an atmosphere that made her bones chill. The northerners kept the old gods, and Cat could feel them around her. But it was not the cold that made her shake, nor even the thought of the ghosts so close and pressed around her.

Catelyn Tully was afraid. It was her wedding day; a day young girls all over the kingdoms dreamed of. A day when a girl becomes a woman, sheds her maiden's cloak and takes that of her new house. She may wear a beautiful dress and marry a high Lord, and finally lose her maidenhead. Catelyn knew she should be excited, but she couldn't bring herself to be. She was marrying a lord, yes, but he was a man she didn't know, and that frightened her more than she cared to admit.

They told her he was very kind and very honourable, a strong man, handsome. But she was a smart girl, she knew better than to believe everything she heard. She had met him before, once or twice, Lord Eddard Stark, her husband-to-be. However, even though she had met him, she had a hard time remembering his face. Every time she tried, it became confused in her mind with Brandon's.

Brandon was supposed to be her husband. Catelyn had been excited for her marriage to him, she had _loved_ him. She exhaled, that was foolish, she had loved the _idea_ of him. It made no matter anymore, he was gone. And she was betrothed to another. A selfish part of her hoped that Eddard might have some of Brandon in him, but whatever he was, whoever he was, she would have to love him, belong to him.

Family, duty, honour. Those were the Tully words, and Catelyn tried her hardest to uphold to them. Yes, she would be a dutiful wife, a loving wife, if nothing else.

"Oh Cat! You look beautiful!" Cat spun on her heels at the sound of her father's gasp. Hoster Tully was the Lord of Riverrun, her home. _Your old home,_ she reminded herself, _Winterfell is your home now._ He was a tall man with a growing roundness to his stomach as he aged and eyes the same shade as Cat's. He was a kind man, and Cat loved him with all her heart. She only wished he wasn't sending her away.

"Thank you father," She smiled sweetly as she embraced him. She supposed she did look rather nice. Her dress was simple and modest; the Tullys were a simple and modest house after all, not nearly as grand or showy as the Lannisters or The Targaryens. It was made of a plain white silk, as befitting a bride; the bodice fit close to her breasts and her waist, with the skirt loose and flowing to the floor. Across the bodice were sewn clusters of tiny pearls in a pattern across her stomach and chest. She had clear, pale skin, large blue eyes and her hair was thick and auburn. She hoped Lord Eddard would think she was lovely.

As Catelyn turned toward the mirror and allowed her father to fasten her maiden's cloak about her shoulders, she watched Lysa slink into the room in the reflection. Lysa was not so lovely. Catelyn knew she should not think so, but it was true, and she took a smug pride in the fact that she was the more beautiful sister. Lysa was a homely girl with a personality that was worse. She was her sister, and Catelyn loved her for she was blood, but she had no great like for the younger girl.

"Lysa," She greeted her politely as her father attached her cloak with a small silver pin in the shape of a trout, their house sigil. The sigil decorated the back of the cloak too, against a background of deep red and blue. It was a heavy, warm thing. Catelyn liked the feel of it about her shoulders, as if it were keeping her safe. Soon she would take a new cloak, Lord Eddard's cloak, and it would be his job to keep her safe rather than her father's.

"You look very nice, Cat," Lysa replied coolly as she watched them. She was bitter, Cat knew. She wanted to be the one who was getting married. She would be soon enough, father was planning a match for her, but it was not one Lysa wanted. Lysa spent her days lusting after the Tully's ex-ward, Petyr Baelish. She thought she kept it hidden, but she was stupid. Cat knew all her feelings before Lysa seemed to. It made no difference, Petyr didn't want Lysa. He had tried his hand with Cat before, but she had no interest in him. He was a sweet boy and a loyal friend to her, but she had wanted only her Brandon. Fate was a cruel thing, just as she was snatched from Petyr; Brandon had been snatched from her. _Don't_, she snapped at herself, _don't think of him_.

She thanked her sister and returned the compliment before she let her father lead her from the room. The ceremony was to take place outside. Winterfell did not have a Sept, but a godswood where they prayed to their old gods. Catelyn thought the custom a little strange, but that was the way of her new house, and who was to say that any one way of prayer was better than another?

She picked up the hem of her dress as she walked so it wouldn't trail in the mud. At the entrance to the godswood, Lysa handed her a bouquet of small white flowers and Hoster took her by the arm. She breathed in deeply and tried to clear her head.

There was no aisle for Catelyn to walk down toward her husband but instead she saw him waiting for her beneath a great weirwood tree, beside a clear lake. The tree was huge and bone white with a face upon its trunk and wide leaves the colour of blood. It was strange to her, but it was beautiful. And beneath it's great boughs was her Lord Husband. And to her surprise and joy, he was beautiful too.

She barely noticed the crowd gathered to watch the ceremony, for her eyes were only on him. He was tall and broad shouldered with a strong jaw and a serious expression, though his lips lifted into a small smile at the sight of her. She felt herself return it as she neared him. As she reached the tree where Eddard stood, her father kissed her lightly on the cheek before he stepped back to join the other guests.

They stood in an un-shapely cluster rather than in the rows she expected of a sept wedding, but what did it matter how they stood? They had come to watch the Starks and Tullys join houses, not to stand in rows. In the small crowd she knew only a few, her father, her brother and sister and her uncle were there, along with a few of her household guard and close friends of her father's. She did not know Lord Eddard's guests by name, or she could not match name to face in any case. She supposed she would have to set about learning, it would not do for a lady not to know those in her household.

The man marrying them was a Maester, not a Septon. Maester Luwin he was called, an elderly man with a kind face and his chain with links of many different metals which showed all the things he was learnt in. Catelyn didn't know which metal stood for which form of art or knowledge but she could tell that Maester Luwin had mastered many. He spoke in a soft voice, come from years of servitude, but Cat found she liked it. Men who had to speak loud to get their way often spoke false.

The Maester read some prayers and the young couple recited their vows. Then Cat turned with her heart in her throat so that her back was to Lord Eddard.

With a gentle grace that surprised her, he reached about her shoulders and unclasped the silver trout, letting the thick cloak of red and blue pool at their feet. Someone removed it, and then Eddard was wrapping the cloak of his house colours around her instead. It felt heavy on Cat's slender shoulders, but it felt warm. She was marrying into the coldness of the north, but perhaps Eddard Stark was warmer than she had thought. Winterfell had been warm, the cloak was warm, even his hands were warm. _Strong hands_, she thought as they worked on fastening her new cloak. They were big and marked with calluses from holding a sword or reigns, but when they brushed against her skin or her hair, they were as gentle as a summer breeze.

Cat turned back to face him, her cheeks pinker than she had intended and her eyes bright with a happiness she had not anticipated. Her heart soared of its own accord when she saw that happiness reflected in Lord Eddard's eyes. _He is quite beautiful_, she mused, _in a rugged, manly way_. He was not as beautiful as Brandon perhaps, but he was handsome. His jaw was strong and square with a smattering of dark stubble. Some might have though it messy, but Cat found herself liking the fact that he was unshaven. He was wild, he was the north.

His dark hair was windswept and reached his chin with strands pulled back from his face. His eyes were grey and they looked at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world. It pleased her that a man she barely knew could think her beautiful, if he could think her beautiful so soon, perhaps he could love her too.

Cat was so lost in her thoughts that it came as a surprise to her when Eddard took her hand in his and Maester Luwin began to loosely bind them with a scrap of cloth. His hands were even nicer in her own. Catelyn thought that she could face the harsh north with hands like that to hold her tight, with a man like Eddard to keep her safe. The thought made her cheeks flush once more.

And then the Maester was telling Eddard to kiss his bride. Cat had expected a chaste kiss, a fleeting brush of lips like those she had seen at the weddings of lords and ladies she had visited as a child. But Eddard was the north; he was a lord yes, but a northern lord. And they were wild and strong and fierce. He pressed his strong hands at the bend of Cat's waist, heat flowing through him to her even through the fabric of her cloak, and he bent to capture her lips in a kiss that she was unprepared for, a kiss that left her breathless. And though she felt a fool for it, a kiss that left her wanting more.

Lord Eddard's lips were rough and chapped from cold but they moulded to hers as if he was the only man she had been made to kiss, and his hands kept her steady as her heart fluttered and her breath left her. Catelyn was disappointed when the kiss ended. _He is my husband now,_ she told herself, and _I may kiss him whenever I wish._ It was a girlish thought, but it made her smile.

"My lady Stark," Eddard kept their hands linked as he spoke to her in a voice that was stone and snow and honour, his lips were curved into a polite smile. "Shall we lead the party in for the feast?"

"Yes my lord," Catelyn nodded and Eddard looked at their joined hands with a chuckle.

"Ned," He looked back at her, his grey eyes darting over her face, "That is what my friends call me," He paused, "What my family calls me," The weight of his words was not lost on her, but it was a pleasant weight, _she_ was his family now.

"Then I am Cat," She replied as they began to walk, the guests following behind them.

"A beautiful name, it suits you," Catelyn blushed at his words.

"My sister always said it was a stupid name for a Tully, as our sigil is the trout," Whenever her sister had taunted her for it, Cat had always replied that Cats eat fish. At that Lysa would make a face and run to their father.

"Well," Lord Eddard said with a grin, "You are not a trout anymore, you're a wolf," _A wolf,_ Catelyn smiled with him, and she would be a fierce she-wolf indeed.

The feast was seven courses of rich food served in Winterfell's great hall. Iron chandeliers hung above, casting the room in the glow of a hundred candles, with a huge hearth at the end of the hall. Cat sat upon a dais at the high table with Ned to her left. The food was fine and filling, but Cat's main taste was for the man beside her, her husband.

They talked whilst they ate and drank and she listened with wide eyes and a heavy heart as he told her tales of his family. _This man has known much sadness, and yet he still smiles, he still loves_. It was a joyful thing, hopeful. Catelyn hoped she would make him continue to smile. When he spoke of his past his grey eyes were like mist and almost silver.

Cat was offered congratulations and well wishes from all the guests and endured long talks with some of the more important ones; she nodded and smiled and thanked them sweetly, but they were all noise to her. A chattering, a buzz, outshined by the deep voice of Eddard Stark, who spoke with the power of a king and the kindness of a child. Cat could've laughed at herself for being afraid of the man just that morning. She did not doubt that Ned Stark could be a formidable enemy to those who crossed him, but as a husband he was as good a man as any. Cat was relieved. An arranged marriage more often than not meant an unhappy couple, but not this time. Ned was all that she had loved in Brandon and something entirely his own. And when he looked at her, she thought he felt the same way.

The feast ended with a fruit pie larger than Catelyn's head which she barely touched for the pounding of her heart, she knew what came next. Every highborn maid everywhere knew what came next, what came after the wedding feast. She had dreamed of it many times, the day when she would shed her maiden's cloak and her maidenhead to a noble lord. Ned was a noble lord, and handsome. But the bedding frightened her; the men stripping her as they carried her to her new bedchamber, and the ladies making bawdy jokes about her new husband before they were shut in a chamber to consummate their marriage whilst the guests pressed their ears to the door in a crude intrusion.

In truth, she _wanted_ to bed Lord Eddard. He was a strong, handsome man, and she was a woman with a woman's needs. But the bedding was a fearsome prospect; she didn't wish her maidenhead to be taken from her while guests listened in. Her father was there! Her brother and sister! But the bedding was custom, and Catelyn did her duty. _I am a she-wolf now, I shall not be afraid._

It pleased her though, that when the guests took up the cry of _'To bed! To bed!'_ Ned Stark looked sheepish and embarrassed, instead of bawdy and crude, the way men had often looked at Cat after she had flowered and grown teats. Her husband offered her an apologetic glance; the candlelight casting shadows on the planes of his face and Catelyn felt butterflies fill her stomach.

The men swarmed around her, save for her father and brother, and a pair of thick arms lifted her from her seat. She looked into their leering faces and knew her face must be as red as her hair. The man who had picked her up carried her through the great hall, the male guests forming a crowd about her as they undid her cloak and brushed her skin with rough fingers. They unlaced her dress with their groping hands and pushed the sleeves from her shoulders, pulling the ivory fabric down over her breasts, then her waist, then her hips. She flushed wildly and covered her face with her hands as they worked on the laces of her small clothes. Someone squeezed her backside and she smacked him. _I am a she-wolf,_ she thought, _would that I could tear off your hand with my teeth._ Finally, as she reached the doorway to the bedchamber, someone rid her of the last of her small clothes, leaving her naked as her name day. The laughed raucously as they pushed her inside the chamber.

Ned was pushed in by a group of ladies moments after and Cat glimpsed their grinning faces before the door swung shut. She felt a surge of jealousy that the gaggle of hens had seen her husband naked before she did, but he stood before her now. He looked just as beautiful naked as he did clothed, more so. His broad shoulders matched his chiselled torso, muscled from years at the sword. There was a long scar down his chest, pink and shiny and healed. There was a layer of dark hair across his chest and in a trail from his stomach to his manhood, Cat averted her eyes when the trail of hair finished there, innocent and embarrassed as she was. She let her gaze land upon his face instead, where she found his eyes already upon hers, instead of on her breasts or between her legs. _He is noble indeed_, she thought wryly.

"I'm sorry you had to suffer that," Ned gestured toward the door as he took a step toward her, not too close, he seemed worried that he might frighten her. "It is not a pleasant custom," He wrinkled his nose.

"No, but it is custom all the same. And now they are waiting with strained ears," She laughed, looking at her feet. Ned stepped closer once more, lifting her head with his hand so as to look her in the eye.

"They don't have to hear anything, Cat," The use of her name sparked a warmth in her, she liked the way he said it, the way it sounded in his deep voice. She frowned though, unsure of his meaning.

"The marriage needs to be consummated," Cat bit her lip nervously.

"Not now though, I will not force you, you are my wife, a woman not a possession. It is your choice as much as mine, but it is not theirs," He waved his free hand toward the door carelessly and Cat's lips pulled up in a grin.

She lifted her arms from where they hung limp at her sides and wrapped them around his neck. _I am a wolf now and he is my husband._

"You need not force me, Ned," She whispered, so quiet that the guests would never hear, no matter how hard they listened. And then she stood on her toes and kissed him hard on the mouth.

Ned Stark was an honourable man and kind, offering her chances to stop as they climbed under the furs of his huge bed, seeking reassurance that she was happy as he pressed kisses to her lips and jaw and throat. He whispered to her that she was beautiful when he broke her maidenhead, and he loved her gently.

Cat shivered, but not from the cold, _my husband is the north_, she thought as he kissed her, _but when he holds me, I am warm._


End file.
